


Found Fate

by SolarEclipser



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bounty Hunting, Fluff, Found Family, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarEclipser/pseuds/SolarEclipser
Summary: Long before he can accept a bounty of beskar, Din is saved on a hunt by a strange green child with mystical powers. When the child is persistent and follows Din, he reluctantly returns home with the stowaway.But unbeknownst to the Mandalorian tribe, the little foundling is being hunted by a relentless Imperial remnant, headed by a man who will stop at nothing to have him back.A story where circumstances may have changed, but fate finds a way to draw souls together. An alternative route to the story.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 166





	1. Accidental Acquisition

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an adorable idea on CoffeeQuill's discord server. Hoping I've done it justice. Now turned from a oneshot into a fic!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)

Betrayal was just his kind of luck, it seemed.

Din ducked down behind the crates, gulping in air as another bolt whizzed just past his helmet, blood and adrenaline pumping through him. He turned over and fired another bolt in kind, but the offending Aqualish had ducked out of the way. Din wrenched himself back behind cover, a hand coming to cradle his injured arm where a shot had ripped through, leaving behind agonizing pain that he could only swallow down and a burn that indicated where he’d been hit.

Of course, he couldn’t trust others to lead him to his target. Should’ve known better. He slammed his heel down into the ground, out of both pain and frustration, before he turned again and waited. The Weequay and Aqualish were both behind cover, and naturally, his target had escaped by now. He swore beneath his breath, tightened his fingers over the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Sweat clung beneath his clothes, his breath coming hard and fast. His arm  _ throbbed  _ with pain, and he gritted his teeth.

This hunt was ridiculous and he understood now why no one else had wanted to take it. Corellia could be a nightmare when any street rat could be a member of a crime syndicate about to lure him into a trap and while this encounter didn’t scream of a syndicate, it was definitely… well, they’d fooled him, and he was paying for it.

Overhead, drops began to fall, and the Weequay popped out again.

But Din was a faster shot, and his bolt caught the Weequay in the arm to throw him backwards. The Aqualish jumped out, then, full body exposure as he shot at Din. Din dropped his weight but rolled out towards the side, lifting his good arm, even as the other flared with pain. He squeezed the trigger once, twice, a third time for good measure even as the Aqualish dropped. Every shot found its mark, and the alleyway settled into silence. Din held his breath, looking around, then slowly began to get up. He kept his blaster raised as he crept towards the bodies, controlling his air.

The bodies still smoked, but didn’t move. Din took in a breath, then fired another shot into the Weequay to be sure. He looked around, his HUD scanning for lifeforms, but coming up empty. His heart began to calm and he took a deep breath. He took a step and leaned his hips forward, wincing at how his hip flexor had tightened up, his calf was threatening to lock, and his arm continued to throb. His target was nowhere to be found. “Damn it,” he muttered, beginning to walk. The rain was coming down now, not heavy but enough that he wanted to get out of it.

Then a weight crashed into his back, sending him to the ground in a heap.

He went down with little resistance, caught off balance on one foot, and the weight just rolled off him with the momentum. He looked up just as his betrayer whirled around, rusty blade in hand, a look of hatred on his face. “Still alive, Mando?” he spit before springing forward with a swing.

Din’s eyes widened behind the visor and he rolled himself out of the way, getting his feet beneath him, launching himself up. He drove his weight against the Czerialan. They tumbled to the ground again but Din had the advantage as he slammed his fist across the Czerialan’s jaw, his other trapping the arm with the knife. The Czerialan scowled at him, arm fighting his hold, his free hand coming up to grab at Din’s throat. His fingers dug in and Din hissed, coming up to grab it, before the hand shoved up and knocked against the rim of his helmet.

It lifted. Not enough. Showed a bit of skin at most. But in a snap, Din twisted the Czerialan’s wrist to earn a pained howl. He wrenched his arm away and rolled off, reaching for his blaster, aiming at the other. The Czerialan was up, too, broken wrist cradled against his chest, but he had his blaster as well. “Bastard hunter,” he hissed. “He’s long go-”

He froze. Almost a jerking motion before his entire body stopped, his expression locking into a look of confusion, eyes trained on Din. He stared at him, then slowly, began to… float.

An inch off the ground. Then, another. And another, until he was a few feet in the air. He began to move again, squirming against whatever held him with no effect. “What the-” he shouted, blaster dropping from his hand in panic. “Hey!”

Din watched. Nothing but confusion filled him at whatever he was seeing in front of him, certainly not a trick the Czerialan was playing. But he wasn’t going to take the chance that it would end and continue their fight. He raised his blaster and shot through the man’s chest. The Czerialan made a pained groan, but went limp, and just a second later dropped to the ground in a heap.

For a moment, all went silent, and he stared. Then he walked forward and kicked at the man, awaiting a reaction, the gun pointed down at his face. Raindrops rolled down his visor. His clothes were becoming soaked and satisfied that the Czerialan was dead, he turned.

But stopped and instead stared at the little green creature, who peeked out from around the corner.

It was tiny. Barely the size of his boot, with a green head and big ears that pointed out, dark little eyes staring up at Din. He was dressed in a ragged brown coat, clearly too big for him, that was stained with mud around its bottom hem and on the front of the coat. He was half-hidden around the corner, watching him, and Din stared back. It was… tiny. Defenseless. Almost adorable. Din tilted his head to the side as he holstered his pistol and the creature seemed to straighten up, letting out a high-pitched little coo, ears lifting.

Din took a step over. The thing almost looked excited before he began to waddle over, arms out for balance as he made his way over a pile of scrap to approach Din. He looked… young. It was a species Din didn’t recognize at all, but as far as species went, this one looked very young. The big eyes, small size and just the  _ look  _ of him suggested youth. He got himself over the scrap and came to Din, who knelt down. He wandered up to him, little hands pushing against his knee, and Din watched him.

He let out another mewl, looking right up at Din, before raising his arms.

“Did you do that?” Din asked.

It was a preposterous idea. That a tiny child like this had  _ levitated  _ a whole person, conveniently, for Din to shoot and end the fight with. The child made no attempt to respond, just a happy shriek before he began attempting to climb up Din’s leg. It was a useless endeavor, and Din just watched him. The rain began to pour harder, and Din reached down to pry the kid off his leg. He stood, holding the child, and the kid looked at him with lowered ears. He squinted as the rain drenched him, and Din walked to the nearest building, where an awning blocked the rain.

Din didn’t know who or what he was. But with the crime syndicates in the area, he didn’t have a good feeling about this kid. “Do you have parents?” he said. But the kid just stared at him, ears perking in reaction to his voice, no further response coming. Din frowned, then crouched and put him on the ground. “Uh. I don’t know where you came from.”

But he didn’t have the time to figure it out. Nor the backup if it turned out to be crime bait. He stood and turned away, starting to head back out into the rain, boots crunching against broken glass. Corellia’s sky was dark, he was already soaked, and the hunt was a bust. For a moment, he chanced a look over his shoulder.

The kid was still where he’d left him, watching, now a tiny shape beneath the awning with sad ears. Then, as though given permission, his ears perked up and he started to follow, venturing out into the rain.

Din sped up.

The wait for food was aggravating.

Though the storm had passed, leaving only a few occasional drops and many puddles, he still wasn’t offworld. Instead, he’d come across an eatery - some outdoor restaurant that had tables but offered food to go. And he was starving, made worse when he smelled food full of  _ spices.  _ He’d taken in one whiff of it before his mouth was watering and damn it, his hunt had gone to shit but he could at least get decent food.

Now, he was just waiting forever on it, even as his wound throbbed and he leaned into a wall, foot against it to stretch his calf. He took a deep breath, feeling the burn, pushing a little harder into it with his breath held when he heard the happy little coo.

His attention jerked to the side and he stared down at the child. It stood just a few feet away, looking up at him. It was just as soaked as Din, its coat dark and heavy with rain, but his expression was of happiness upon seeing Din. He wandered over to his boot again, grabbing on, but Din pulled back before he knelt down in front of it. “Stop following me,” he said. “I’m not your parent.”

But the child just blinked at him.

“Go home,” Din said. He turned the kid around and gave him a gentle nudge away. “Home.”

The kid just turned back around, staring at him with sad eyes. Din looked back, feeling a… tight sensation in his chest at the look he was given, but he stood anyway. His order was called out and he turned away, walking to the window, grabbing his box off the pickup ledge. For a moment, he flipped it over to check that it was what he’d wanted, then shut it again.

He threw a glance towards the kid. He’d stepped forward now, chin lifted as he sniffed the air, then visibly deflated. Din watched him, his stomach twisting, but he turned away again and began to walk towards the Crest’s parked position. As much as it hurt… hungry children on the streets weren’t an uncommon sight, especially in these parts. There was  _ someone  _ to feed him, surely, and Din couldn’t afford to stop for every pitiful child he came across. 

He’d returned home with them before - a little boy who’d warned him of incoming trouble and stuck around, two small sisters who’d been helpful in setting a trap for his target and then begged to come with him. Three foundlings, delivered home to be adopted into their tribe. He was no stranger to finding those kids. But this one was not like those.

Those kids weren’t… babies. They’d had a fire within them that told Din they were worth it. But a lost little Corellian boy following him wasn’t exactly a future Mandalorian and even as Din walked away with guilt, he knew there was nothing he could do.

It began to rain again, but he was already inside the Razor Crest when the water hit. He closed up the ship and ate on his own, taking his time to remove his helmet, treat his wound, squeeze out the water and enjoy the meal. The spice was good, giving him a mild burn that permeated his mouth. Afterwards, he was left licking his lips, almost disappointed it was gone before he climbed up into the cockpit, helmet back on. He grumbled to himself. Best to just turn over on the hunt, give the puck and fob back, take something more likely to happen. He had a covert to take care of. He couldn’t afford useless hunts that only spent his fuel.

He reached for the engines when he saw it. The damn kid again.

He stood near the street, just at the corner before the city turned into the shipyard. Din’s hand hovered by the lever, watching the little green dot before he let out a sigh and pulled the lever down. Kid had persistence, that was something. But he had to return to Nevarro, move along on the next hunt. No time for-

Two bodies came around the corner, and Din’s attention was drawn again, turning his head to watch.

The two - human in appearance, at least from here - walked casually, but swung around to circle the child, looking down at it. Din frowned. A bad feeling began to nestle itself in his stomach and he unconsciously began to lift himself from the seat, hands tight on the controls. The two didn’t do anything at first, appearing to just stand there, but then Din was out of his seat and jumping down to the cockpit. He hit the door controls, the bad feeling growing more intense, until he was slipping through the growing crack and down onto the ground again.

The child was crying.

He’d been picked up, held now at arms length from one of the men, and was wailing his lungs out. Din walked over, not thinking, not considering, his hand straying down to his blaster. He drew it, letting out a breath, watching how the kid cried and squirmed.

“Think we can sell it?” one asked. He lowered the kid down, looking at his partner. “Whatever the hell this little thing is-”

But the partner looked past him and instead saw Din, eyes widening. “Hey!” he said. “Look!”

The one holding the kid turned to look at him and he stared. “Who are-”

Din tilted his wrist up, firing a bolt from the hip that buried itself in the back of the man’s thigh. He screamed and dropped down to one knee, dropping the kid as he grabbed at his leg in pain. The other turned tail and ran, sprinting around the corner, and the kid continued to wail on the ground. Din stepped around the man to scoop him up, bringing the kid against his chest. Quickly, the cries began to calm, and the kid settled against the painted beskar.

The man stared up at him. His face contorted with pain, now with fear, as Din and the kid looked down at him. “What are you…”

Din lifted his blaster and pulled the trigger.

As he walked back to the ship, the kid snuggled down into one arm, looking quite content with where he was. “I’m not taking you home,” Din said, his voice firm as he looked down at the kid. “I’ll get you somewhere safe. That’s it.”

The kid just made a happy coo and settled in place.

The child was a right terror, and Din was more than eager to get rid of him.

He demanded attention, even as Din set a course for Naboo. Surely, such a place would have  _ some  _ form of an orphanage or other type of child care service where Din could leave him. But as the Razor Crest shot through the hyperspace lane, hours away from Naboo, it was clear that getting anything done with this kid on his ship would not work.

He tried to take a nap, to let his muscles rest. The kid crawled into the cot with him and babbled away, all nonsense sounds, patting against his helmet until he got up again. Din sat back in the chair but the kid was demanding to be up in his lap, letting out a cry until Din let him play with his fingers. Then, it became a matter of finding things to entertain him, or a tantrum would follow.

As a kid growing up, as he’d become an adult, he’d never had much of a desire for kids. That was just another thing that he likely wouldn’t check off on the list of life milestones, especially not since the Purge. He was more content to help out where he could with their tribe’s foundlings. But this -  _ this  _ kid - was a reminder of why he didn’t have that desire.

Too. Much. Energy.

He just wanted a nap.

But they eventually jerked out of hyperspace, the lush of Naboo hovering beyond the transparisteel, and the kid was finally sleepy and curled up in Din’s arms. Parking in the ground hangar was easy, settling down into a single spot where they’d be safe. Exhausted and relieved, he got up and shifted the kid into one arm, climbing down. Soon, he’d be free of this. He’d go home, get that new puck, get back into the job. He opened the door and just waited on the ramp.

Naboo was beautiful. Beyond the main door of the hangar was runways leading in from lush fields, rolling green hills, a shining sun. He could hear waterfalls in the distance. Din started towards the other side of the hangar, the kid cradled in his arm, as he made his way up towards the city of Theed. It was as beautiful and plentiful as it was rumored to be, and though he has been to Naboo before, it hadn’t been this city.

“We’re going to find you somewhere to stay,” Din said, “and then I’m going to leave. Okay? Someone will be able to take care of you.”

The child looked up at him and cooed. He looked around, then turned and his claws scrabbled against Din’s cuirass, trying to climb up with little success. Din lifted him, holding the boy to his shoulder. He seemed content there as he turned and looked around at the city.

Several kinds of people passed them, multiple races and shades, all creating a colorful array of things for the little one to stare at as Din walked. Near the front was an open market area, displaying beautiful products like clothes and tapestries while the scent of food hung in the air. In an instant, the kid pushed up on Din’s shoulder and sniffed the air, eyes shut, before he let out a long and demanding whine.

“You’re hungry,” Din sighed. “... Fine.”

He’d indulge a few more credits on food.

They walked away from a barbecue stand with two sticks full of cooked meat, lightly spiced but utterly mouth watering. Din kept one wrapped for himself later while the other was taken apart piece by piece, fed to the little monster who scarfed it all down at once. It smelled divine, and though Din had eaten a full meal just hours ago, the enticing scent was waking his stomach again. The child tore through the meat like it was barely a snack, then whined for more, reaching for the wrapped second stick. “No,” Din said, the stick resting loose in his fingers as he moved the kid away. “That’s not-”

Then, as if plucked away, the stick floated out of his hand and into the kid’s grasp, little claws grabbing onto the chunks of meat as he began to gnaw on the middle. Din stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and continued walking.

He had no idea what this power was. Only that the kid certainly had used it to save him, though for what reason, he didn’t know. Maybe a species thing, but… what was the  _ species? _

He just shook the thoughts out of his mind. By the end of the day, this kid wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

Naboo  _ was  _ one of the few planets who actually had a somewhat functional system of care for children. It was also one of the few that had thrived even under the Empire and still retained its beauty, the Naboo keeping a plentiful hold on their resources. And with enough questioning, Din found himself on the steps of an orphanage.

It was a tall, stone structure, adorned with colorful decorations with surrounding trees just like most of the places in Theed. While Din was adjusted to the idea of orphanages being dark, lonely places, where children were more often neglected than cared for, this place spoke of… the opposite. It was clean, well cared for, no damage anywhere from age. A group of children sat on the steps, wearing similar clothes but laughing together. They  _ smiled.  _ They grew quiet as Din approached, as he walked up the steps, eyes big and watching and almost full of hope. Din glanced at them.

A hope he didn’t mean to give them.

A woman greeted him at the door; she had a kind face, though clearly uncertain at facing a Mandalorian, almost defensiveness creeping into her expression. “Are you here for someone?” she asked, hand tight on the door. “There are only childre-”

Din cleared his throat and lifted his arms higher. The boy cooed in his hold and her eyes were drawn to him, widening for a moment. “Oh,” she whispered, and eased the door open.

“He isn’t mine,” Din said. “I found him. He started following me on Corellia. This seemed like a good place to leave him.”

She stared at the child for a moment. The boy cooed again, squirming a bit before fitting himself more comfortably against Din’s arm, and the woman shook her head before stepping back. “Come in,” she said. “You found him?”

Din stepped in through the doors. The front entrance was dark, but as the door shut behind them and he followed the woman into the next room, it was awash in natural light through the windows. The child squinted against it and turned over, hiding his face in Din’s chest. Din watched him with a frown, “Yes. Followed me all the way to my ship. Some… men, whatever they were, tried to grab him to sell.”

“This is a good place to bring him,” the woman said. “Wait here. I’ll be back with someone.”

Din watched her turn and disappear into another room. The one he stood in now was large, and as he looked around, he could see the evidence that this  _ was  _ an orphanage. Stacked beds lined the walls, many in rows, with tight spaces in between. They all looked the same, white sheets and pillows, some with clear stains from whatever had spilled. But it didn’t look so desolate. Pages of artwork were stuck to the posts, some appearing as self portraits while others had multiple figures. Something stirred in his chest as he realized they were drawn families. Toys littered the beds and the floors, and beyond a door, there were more beds.

Beside him, he glanced out the window. There was a yard beyond, where children’s laughter emanated from. He watched as children of all shapes and sizes played in the grass, little ones sitting and digging while others kicked balls around. A group of teenagers sat together against a far wall, while some adults held the tiniest ones. The boy in his arms began to squirm, restless, and Din lowered him down to the ground to explore.

His life hadn’t been like this one at all, even when it could have been so easily.

The woman returned a few minutes later, followed by a man in a long white coat, a medical patch on his shoulder. “Hello,” he greeted, aimed at Din, but his attention was drawn to the little creature who’d discovered a doll to hold. He dropped the doll to look up at the man, head tilted to the side. “Why, hello!”

The baby let out a resounding shriek, seeming to be a greeting in return as he started to walk back towards Din. He planted his hands against his boot before looking up at the two strangers, then up at Din before he released another trill.

“This is Doctor Scance,” the woman said, gesturing to the man as he approached. He took a medical scanner from his pocket, and the child made a squeak before hiding behind Din. “He…” she smiled at the child’s hiding. “He oversees the health of our wards.”

Scance bent down to one knee, looking at the kid. “I promise I won’t hurt you, buddy,” he said, and he held up the scanner. “I just need to shine this light on you so we can know you’re okay.”

The kid peered at him, ears drooped, then let out a whimper before hiding again, a hand grabbing onto Din’s cape. Din looked down at him, then crouched, gentle in pulling the kid out. He let out a frightened squeak, but Din just sat him on his cuiss, holding on. The grip remained on his cape. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just a light.”

Tears filled the baby’s eyes and he stared up at the doctor. The man was as quick as he could while still getting a good reading, the light passing over the child’s face. He blinked and turned away from it, squinting against the light, but the doctor stood again to look at the screen. “Healthy,” he said with a smile. “Was that so bad, buddy?”

The kid dragged the cape around himself, sniffling. Din took him into his arms and stood. “You can take him, then?” Din said.

“You have no interest in caring for him?” the woman questioned.

Din frowned. “I travel,” he said. “I have other people to take care of. A life with me isn’t good.”

The woman let out a breath, looking at the child. “Okay,” she said. “We… don’t have much in the way of room at the moment, but we can make this work. Has he eaten?”

“He just did,” Din said. “He likes cooked meat. Ate a lot of it.”

The woman nodded. “I can take him,” she said, her arms held out. Din was gentle in pulling his cape free from the child’s grasp, who let out a whimper in protest. He paused a moment, looking down into teary eyes that looked back at him with pleading. But he shook it off and handed him over to the woman, who cradled him with practiced ease.

The waterworks turned on immediately, loud whimpers turning into cries as the kid reached for him, face twisted up with tears. “Thank you,” Din said over the noise, and the woman nodded with a hesitant expression as she tried to keep him in her arms. He turned and walked back towards the door, hearing both adults try in vain to calm the distraught child. A sense of guilt weighed down his steps, the cries ringing out after him, as he walked out the door.

He came down the steps, and ignored the disappointed expressions of the group of children as he passed.

While he was in a city as rich as Theed, he might as well make the most of it.

He still had a decent amount of credits on him, and while shopping for  _ personal  _ items was a hassle he didn’t care for, it was hard to pass through markets like these and not notice things that the tribe could use. Small treats and replacements that could bring smiles to his peoples’ faces, even when hidden within the covert. And without intending on it, it turned into a day of shopping, buying the smaller things he knew they’d already need.

He grabbed a few toys, carved ships or stuffed snuggly toys that could entertain or help their foundlings sleep. A few dozen yards worth of duraweave fabric that could be tailored into new clothing. At this point, he had a bag at his side for it all, as he bought more hygiene things like soap, generic hair product and splurged on a new razor for himself. He tossed in a few mechanical tools, geared towards electrical work, something that every Mandalorian could use when tending to their armor.

The sun moved across the sky and after getting himself another packed meal to save for later, he was returning down to the hangar. The Razor Crest sat parked where he’d left it, a small relief to always find his ship untouched or without damage. His fuel was decent, his food supply good, and he was returning home with less than the optimal amount of credits but with supplies. That was still a win in its own way.

A failed hunt. But he had supplies and he’d found a safe place for a child in danger. That orphanage was the best place that kid could be; there were many more sinister options in the galaxy than a place like that. His own covert couldn’t be as good, not to a child like that.

They raised their children to be warriors, after all, and foundlings were taken when they could meet a standard. And the little green creature didn’t meet that standard in any way.

He prepared himself for flight, putting the newly bought supplies away in a secured bin before checking over his food supplies. Satisfied, he climbed up into the cockpit and settled into the seat, reaching for the levers. He began to pull them, starting up the lift sequence, flaring the engines open and preparing to rise. The coordinates for Nevarro were programmed in, a course already set, and he was ready to go home and have a chance to heal up.

The Razor Crest lifted out of the hangar and they tilted up towards the sky, pushing the engines forward, cylinders firing as the ship rocketed towards the stars. He always loved this, the thrill of entering space, of escaping the atmosphere and leaving an entire world behind. It’d been a thrill when he first learned to fly and still was now.

Soon, he was surrounded by the silent black of space, stars twinkling around him. He sat back against the chair and guided the ship into the hyperspace lane, reaching forward to pull another lever for hyperdrive. The stars began to speed past and they were hurtling across the galaxy, the lights flashing against his visor. He took a deep breath and leaned back. His muscles slumped for a few seconds, just melting into the back of the chair, taking a moment.

Then he got up and ventured into the cargo hold to stretch.

He returned not a half hour later to the cockpit, feeling a little better, less tension in his hips or hamstrings. He leaned back to watch the lights of hyperspace, mind already whirling with how he planned on moving on, when he would need to refuel and if stopping for armor reinforcement was worth-

Then, he noticed the metal grip missing off his right engine lever.

He stared at it, then leaned forward and touched his fingers to the stick, its top swirled around with the lines of its screw, the grip clearly  _ gone.  _ He didn’t remember taking it off, or even hearing it fall. He looked around, then bent down, flicking on his helmet’s light to look beneath the dash. The ball was nowhere to be seen, and he sat up again, brows furrowed as he switched off the light and looked around.

“Where…”

A giggle came from behind.

Din whipped around in the seat and looked back. In the doorway of the cockpit, the little Corellian child stood, peering around the corner at Din with a smile. He gripped the metal ball in one hand, then held it out, and the ball began to levitate. It floated towards Din, and he stared at it before slowly putting his hands out. It dropped into his cupped palms, settling there, and he stared down at it before he looked at the child.

The little stowaway giggled again, looking delighted, before he started wandering towards Din. He held his arms up, cooing, and Din was slow to place the metal ball back on the dash before he lifted the child into his arms. “You… shouldn’t be here,” he said. “That place was good for you.”

The child’s ears twitched and he stared at Din, head tilting to the side.

“I can’t keep you,” Din said.

But the child just squirmed, reaching his arms out, and Din brought him to his chest. The boy cuddled in there, ears folding back as he tucked his head against Din’s elbow. He stretched out, facing in, and seemed content to drop off into sleep right there. Din turned back to face the transparisteel, looking out at the lights of hyperspace with racing thoughts. He could… hold onto the kid for a little while. Besides being a child, how much trouble could he actually bring?

“Why me?” he muttered aloud.

But the baby gave him no answers, just turning over to squint at the lights, letting out a big huff before he melted against Din’s arm with contentment. 


	2. A New Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din returns home with the baby in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has evolved from a one shot to a fic! My plan for this is to write an alternate adventure for Din and Kid. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)

They landed on Nevarro with good time.

It wasn’t just in terms of travel. The flight from Naboo to Nevarro was hours but they’d managed well. They’d also made good time in terms of the child currently aboard his ship, who’d just woken from a nap in Din’s bed. As Din came to fetch him, the little creature was tangled up in the blanket, letting out a yawn as he was lifted out. “You’ll like the tribe,” he muttered, and Din found himself wondering if it was an assurance to himself or the small child. “... They’ll love you.”

With no bounties to return with, and no credits to collect, Din would head for the covert. There was an assurance that the boy would be safe and well watched within their sanctuary of tunnels and Din could trust them better than the orphanage workers to ensure the little one didn’t escape while he conducted his business. The Mandalorians were always more than thrilled to take in children.

He slipped his rifle over his shoulder and began coming down from the ship, the child cradled in the crook of one arm and bag of supplies in the other, and Din saw him blinking against the sun. Another ship began to land, blowing gusts of wind across the yard, and Din raised his hand to block most of it that he could from the boy’s face. They entered the city, walking amongst the other normal residents, just as the child began to whimper. He looked up at Din with frightened eyes, flattening against him as best he could without melding into Din’s armor itself. Din looked down at him and frowned. “It’s okay,” he said.

The child settled. He still clung to Din but made no attempt to escape.

Din walked past the bazaar, ignoring the smells of food and calls of riches. He headed through to the entrance leading down to the tunnels, silent in pulling back the curtain and stepping through. It fluttered into place behind him and Din began down the steps. He adjusted the child, who began to lean away in favor of looking around. He could hear the Mandalorians now, very quiet but for soft laughter from children and footsteps. He stepped into the covert.

At first, he was ignored by the others. He often came through and left within minutes, only staying hours at a time at most when his armor needed repair. They didn’t see fit to interact much with him unless he returned with news, and he was quite content with the arrangement. But it would not be the same this time. The child cooed.

Helmets lifted up.

Visors followed him and the child began to squirm again, fighting Din’s hold so that he could see better. He leaned out of Din’s arms and looked around, a presence made bigger by his ears, and stared at the Mandalorians around them. They stared back. Din held steady and walked towards the forge, turning from the tunnel into the heated room. He heard the sound of hissing flames as he approached, their Armorer lowering beskar into the center of the forge, melting into silver liquid.

He sat down on the bench, lowering the bag of purchased goods to the floor. The child made no attempt to wriggle. He turned to stare at the flames, reflective in his big eyes, and let out a soft coo. The Armorer turned to look at them, her gaze holding, until the beskar poured into the mold. Then, she set it aside, and walked over.

“You bring a visitor,” she said, taking a seat across from Din.

“I think it’s a child,” he said. “My hunt on Corellia did not end well. It helped me defeat an enemy.”

The Armorer’s helmet tilted down. She stared at the child in question.  _ “It  _ helped you?” she said. “... It looks  _ helpless.” _

“I would have thought so, too,” he said. “But I saw it. The enemy was in good position over me. They began to float and allowed me to end the fight. This child appeared after.”

Behind him came murmuring, and it was his first alert that the Mandalorians had gathered in the doorway.

“You believe it was the doing of this child,” the Armorer said.

“It can move things with its mind,” Din said. “I haven’t seen this species in my life. He may be coming from a race of... sorcerers. I'm not sure. He kept following me, even after I tried to leave him in a safe place.”

“So you brought him here.”

“I won’t leave him if it is unwelcome. I need to pick up more bounty pucks.”

The Armorer looked at the child again, head tilting to the side. “I have heard tales of ones who had such power,” she said. “Stories of Mandalore the Great, battling against sorcerers known as  _ jedi.  _ They fought with these powers.”

Din stared at her. “It’s… an enemy?”

“It’s a child.” She reached a hand out, and though the child watched her with wide eyes, he reached out, too. He grabbed onto a finger, letting out a coo, and smiled. “And it is a foundling.”

The baby tried to put the finger in his mouth, and the Armorer gently pulled back. The child pouted.

“It’s…”

“You have returned with foundlings before, and the same choice is before you as it has previously,” the Armorer said. “By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its people…”

“I am as its father,” Din finished in a quiet voice.

“But you have given those foundlings to others to be raised,” the Armorer said. “You are still our active  _ beroya.  _ Do you wish to give this one to another?”

Din frowned. He looked down at the child, who peered up at him with curiosity. Din adjusted his grip, imagining how the child had tried so hard to follow him, and felt guilt threaten to tug at him. He didn’t have an emotional connection to the boy; he had no time for that. But he knew his time on the surface was nearly complete. They took turns surfacing, after all, or they would all go insane. He would be  _ present  _ soon, properly so.

“I… am not sure,” he said. “I want to complete a few more jobs before I’m down here and I cannot take him into danger with me.”

“No, you cannot,” she agreed. “He would be safe here.”

“I’d prefer to make that decision later.” He looked down at the child.

The Armorer sat quiet for a moment. “Foundlings are the future, but they are no simple task,” she said. “To take your own is a heavy promise you cannot break. Better you take the time and make a good decision, rather than decide now and regret it. Found children need stability, not indecisive guardians.”

Din nodded in agreement. “Of course,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Refresh yourself before you go. We will care for him in your absence.”

The Mandalorians were just as infatuated with the child as Din had anticipated.

“He’s so small!” Jessa sighed.

Din watched from across the room. His rifle was in pieces on the floor in front of him, the safety of the covert allowing him to take the time and ensure that he had resources and clean equipment. He wiped down a piece before setting it in its place on the ground. The child had shied away from the Mandalorians at first, whimpering and turning away to hide against Din. But it seemed he had only been overwhelmed, and now delighted in their attention, wandering from Mandalorian to Mandalorian to receive hellos and hugs as though it was his due.

They were saps. All of them. Fierce Mandalorians, the galaxy’s greatest warriors, whose hard exteriors could be cracked in half by a little green child. Most were kneeling on the floor, trying to call him over. Already, they tried to buy his love with their makeshift toys. Others, like Paz, Aren, and Sair sat to the side, watching with their own foundlings.  Din focused on his weapon until footsteps approached and he heard a soft call of  _ “Ba’vodu!” _

He looked up and just dropped his tools in time to catch an armful of Kira. The little five-year-old clung to him with all the strength she could manage, hanging off him, and he wrapped arms around her to hold her weight.  _ “Su’cuy,  _ Kira,” he said, and the girl released him with a bright smile.

“Are you  _ staying?” _

“No, not yet,” he said. She pouted, and he felt the guilt that only a tribal foundling could ever draw out of him. “... But, soon.”

“But the foundling is?”

Din looked up at Paz, who sat down beside Din’s pieces. Kira came over to him and leaned into the side of her  _ buir,  _ dark curls falling into her eyes. He watched them both and thought of how similar his situation was now to what theirs had been. Paz had discovered the girl on the streets a year ago, orphaned and abandoned, ending his turn on the surface to return and care for her.

“It wouldn’t be safe to come with me,” he said.

Paz nodded. “You said he was following you on Corellia.”

“I thought he may have been a crime trap,” Din said. “I wasn’t going to risk it. But he was persistent.” He took the pieces and began to click them back together. He stopped, looking around for a spring, and Paz grabbed it to hand over. “... Thanks.”

“He may have still been,” Paz said. “Even better, then, that you’ve brought him here.”

“Anything seems better than where he was.”

The pieces clicked back into place and Din brought the rifle over his back, clasping the straps together. He looked towards the child, who’d settled on Mari’s lap to use as a bed for napping, his eyes shut and snuggled in. He’d refreshed his charges, cleaned everything, and his armor was in the best shape he could hope for without asking it all to be redone. The covert was the best place to leave his stowaway, safe when he was surrounded by Mandalorians.

“I’m going to take a few more pucks,” he said. “Get as many credits as I can. See if there’s anything good, and then the next person can go.”

Paz nodded.

He got up. He walked over to the others, and they looked up at him. Mari was gentle in lifting off the sleepy child, and Din took him, trying to stay just as gentle to not jostle him too much. The boy blinked up at him, then simply cuddled into the nook of Din’s elbow, eyes closing again. “I’ll be back,” he said. The eyes opened again to look up. “We’ll figure this out.”

He received a soft coo, and he lowered the child down to Mari again. It seemed an adequate goodbye. He was given nods from the others and he let out a breath, steeling himself again to venture up to the surface. He began to walk up. He pushed aside the curtain, visor flooded with sunlight, and he squinted before the HUD adjusted its influx. He walked towards the Common House, hand reaching for the now-disabled tracking fob that had been clipped to his belt. As he came to the door, it opened, and he lifted off the fob.

With little fanfare, he made his way in towards Karga’s usual table. A hunter with wild purple curls in her hair stormed past him from that direction, only acknowledging him with a furious scowl before disappearing. Din brushed it off and slid into the seat she’d vacated, looking at the magistrate across from him as he settled his rifle down.

“Mando,” he sighed. Karga looked much the same as always. Din didn’t think he’d ever change even in age, seeming locked where he was. “At least  _ you  _ aren’t as  _ obstinate  _ as some of these hunters. You do the job, you get paid.  _ You’re  _ a simple case.”

“I need new hunts,” Din said. “The last one managed to slip. I don’t have the time.”

“Sometimes a little  _ too  _ simple,” Karga grumbled, but he reached for the active pucks. “Mostly bail jumpers, the usual. Petty criminals. A kidnapper and hostage - interesting, but on the lower end of pay.”

Din’s eyes scanned over each puck. There were several. He turned his attention onto the higher pays. A mythrol. Another Weequay. A thief in the night. A politician’s runaway brat. He sighed. Nothing particularly exciting, but maybe that was what he needed. The last job had failed and also landed him with a small child who relentlessly followed him. Less excitement, more straightforward. “These,” he said. He reached out and drew the pucks over to him. Almost half the current stack - while most took one, he had multiple carbon frames. “Fobs.”

Karga eyed him, then reached for the corresponding fobs. “The pucks are updated on location,” he said. “You know the drill.”

Din nodded and stood with his rifle. He stacked the pucks and grabbed the fobs by the antennae. “Good luck,” Karga called, but Din made no acknowledgement before he walked towards the door. He magnetized the pucks to the back of his belt, the fobs clipping to the front for now. As he began to walk towards his ship, the sun was setting, and the fobs were dead quiet until he would turn them on.

The covert had little in the way of entertainment these past few years, trapped well beneath the surface in the sewers. They trained relentlessly, having plenty of space for runs, metal for strength training, and all the time in the world. Time was passed teaching their foundlings to fight and sparring each other. There was very little outside of it, besides waiting for their  _ beroya  _ to return with supplies and news.

This time, the  _ beroya  _ had returned with both supplies and a  _ child. _

They were not sure what the child was. He was tiny, just the size of a human infant, and yet far more advanced. He walked on his own - and while he wasn’t a master of it, he did not need their assistance. He didn’t attempt words, but still would communicate with expressive sounds and movement of his big ears. He was frightened when overwhelmed, calm when he was comfortable, and snuggly when he decided to be.

The tribe was in love.

The boy did not seem to mind that Din was gone. Once their  _ beroya  _ had walked out, there had been a bit of apprehension among the others, bred by past experience. Foundlings often clung to the one who found them, easily distressed when separated until they grew more comfortable with their surroundings. The child was  _ aware  _ of his finder’s absence, though not upset. Every once in a while, he would stop and look around with lowered ears, appearing to be a little bit lost.

But his attention was easy to divert, and he would smile again.

_ “Yaim.”  _

Paz watched Irin lie on the floor with the child. The teenage boy seemed determined to teach the child a word, and only was encouraged by the little one’s surprisingly long attention span. Beside them, the other foundlings played together, fascinated by the toys Din had returned with.  _ “Yaim,  _ buddy. It means ‘home’. It’s real easy, huh?”

“How old, do you think?”

Paz looked at Aren. Their second  _ beroya  _ watched the exchange with him, both seated on the bench at the side of the tunnel. “At least a toddler,” he said. “Small, but he walks and talks. Feeds himself.”

“Hm.” Aren shrugged. “Think Djarin will take the kid?”

“Din doesn’t care for parenthood,” Paz said. “... Maybe this one is different.”

“I can’t see him doing it.”

_ “Yaim. Yaaaaim.” _

The baby stared at Irin. He climbed up to his feet and waddled over with a coo before planting his hands against the forehead of Irin’s helmet, staring down into the black. He made a curious sound. Irin chuckled, then slowly lifted himself up, turning to face the kid. “I’d let you try it, but I can’t. Hey, can you say  _ yaim?” _

Aren sighed. “He’s not going to do it,” he said.

“He will! He can.  _ Yaim. Yaimmmmm…”  _

As Irin drew out the letter, it caught the boy’s attention. He stared up at Irin, ears raised, body turning to face him head on. For a moment, they looked at each other in silence.  _ “Yaimmmm…”  _ Irin tried again, drawing out the ‘m’, and ears twitched once more.

“... mmmmm!”

The baby threw his hands out, standing as tall as he could as he matched the sound. Irin faded into laughter and the baby came to grab onto his knee. “Mmmm!” he tried again, patting against Irin’s leg. Paz and Aren glanced at each other, both with hidden smiles. Irin echoed the sound, both humming until the baby tapered off into a fit of giggles. Both laughed.

But the fun was gone in seconds. Beside them, Cass had pushed Lina in the middle of their games. The small girl stumbled back, Paz and Aren both letting out a strained  _ “watch out-”  _ when realizing the baby was right in the way. But Irin was fast, snatching up the baby and getting up to his feet with the child clutched against his cuirass. Lina hit the ground with a soft  _ oof  _ and Paz and Aren were standing, both with racing hearts.

“He’s fine,” Irin said, “He’s fi-”

The child was not fine. He burst into shrieks.

The sound was grating, every person in the room falling silent as it resonated through the tunnel. Running footsteps approached from either end. Irin held the child at arms’ length, the helmet-wearers wincing at the overwhelming sound. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Irin tried in vain, “hey-”

“Put him  _ down,”  _ Aren snapped. “Irin!”

“But he’s-”

“You grabbed him, put him down!”

Irin put the baby back on the ground as fast as possible, then backed away with his hands raised. The screams did not stop right away, but upon feeling the ground, the baby seemed to take stock and the screams devolved into loud cries. He fell back on his rump and tilted his face down into the collar of his robe, gasping sobs released, fearful and afraid. Mandalorians gathered at either end of the tunnel, watching in silence. “I didn’t hurt him!” Irin said. “I don’t think…”

“You’re fine,” Aren muttered, walking over. He knelt down beside the child, his touch gentle in bringing a hand to his back. It stayed there as a steady weight, and after a few moments, the cries began to dissolve. Though the tears flowed, he looked up at Aren, eyes big and watery. He turned over and crawled closer, tucking himself in against Aren’s thigh. Aren stroked his back in a slow rhythm. “... He’s a new foundling. You have to be careful. You don’t know all that they’ve been through and what could set them off.”

The tribe watched in silence. The baby sniffled, and Aren was careful in how he brought the child up into his arms, not squeezing or jerking him. The baby made a tiny coo, barely audible as he pressed his face into Aren’s sleeve. The children, startled by the experience, scurried to their guardians. Kira came to Paz’s side and grabbed onto his cape, tears in her eyes. “Is he okay?” she whispered, looking up at him.

Paz looked down, then nodded, setting a hand on her head. “Yes,” he said, “he’s okay.” He looked towards Aren, who cradled the child with care. “He’s just a foundling.”

It did not take long for things to calm. The baby had now melded himself to Aren’s cuirass, letting out whimpers at any possible sign of separating, not that anyone cared to begin another meltdown. There was a fragile sense within the covert, a need to be cautious, more so than they lived every day. No one wanted to see the little one in distress. Only Din could possibly know some of what the child had been through, but of course even that was very limited. Paz didn’t want to imagine. Especially on a planet like Corellia, where anything could have been done to him, where following Din across a city had not been a choice but a demand for survival, chasing the one adult who may have shown him something other than contempt.

Where simply getting him out of the rain without harm was an act of kindness.

Any Mandalorian shuddered to think of it and held their foundlings a little closer. The galaxy could be relentlessly cruel even to those who were too young to possibly deserve it.

“What happened?”

Paz looked up at the Armorer from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. He was repairing the inside of his cuirass, replacing a piece that had broken during sparring, and now set down the tool. The Mandalorians had dispersed through their home since the earlier incident, and Aren had disappeared with the baby still latched on.

“The kids were playing,” he said. “Lina almost fell on the foundling. Irin grabbed him out of the way. He panicked.”

The Armorer was quiet for a moment. “Something to keep in mind,” she said.

Paz nodded. The circuits sparked. “He’s a special case,” he said. “Old enough for trauma to manifest itself but too young to communicate with us.”

“He may do better when our  _ beroya  _ returns,” the Armorer said. “There is a different level of trust between them than the boy will have with us.”

Paz nodded. Such was always the situation between finders and foundlings. The Mandalorians had gained practice over their long history in handling such trauma, and it was not an art lost on their tribe despite their exile. But it certainly became a more complicated matter. Not just when hidden beneath the city, but in the foundling being a non-human child who could not communicate.

As the Armorer walked away, Paz returned to the fine art of repairing his armor’s circuits. It was ridiculously delicate - and  _ was  _ delicate, even when others claimed it was just the difficulty of having too-large hands. More sparks flew up and he grumbled to himself. “Manda damned-”

A soft whimper cut off the curse.

Paz looked to the side.  The little foundling stood just a few feet away. He was alone now, Aren or any other Mandalorian out of sight, his ears lowered in an image of absolute misery. The boy began to walk over, and Paz settled the tool back down, nudging his armor away. “What is it,  _ ad’ika?”  _ he asked. The baby came to his knee, grabbing on, and then lifted his arms. Paz was slow to take hold of him, lifting until the child was cradled in his elbow. He was so  _ small,  _ so delicate, more so than the stupid armor fix in front of him. “Feeling better?”

The baby let out a sad coo, looking up at Paz. He curled up, snuggling his side against Paz’s bicep, and eyes shut. His ears were still low, making himself as small as possible, near a little ball. Paz watched him, then carefully brought a hand up to rub two fingers over the child’s back. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “... It’s okay,  _ ad’ika.  _ You’re safe, now. You’re safe with us.”

The child relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ad'ika: little one/son/daughter


	3. Early Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din returns from a hunt but the tribe makes a terrible discovery about their new foundling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)

It wasn’t that he usually let bounties just sit in his copilot’s seat, chattering away about everything and anything. Sometimes, he was unlucky enough to get the nervous talkers. The ones who would shoot off at the mouth about whatever could come to mind, all in the desperate attempt to form  _ some  _ kind of connection with him. The appeal to some form of kinship, whatever could exist between a bounty hunter and their target.

No, it wasn’t normal. But that monster had crashed through the ice and in the moment, he did what he had to.

As he landed on Nevarro and once again walked through the city gateway, he felt…  _ relieved  _ to have returned. The four hunts had been more aggravating than difficult, but the mythrol had been the easiest by far, even counting the bar fight. As he entered the bar, eyes following, he ignored it with ease. There was no point in caring about the hatred of someone who didn’t know him.

The tracking fobs made a satisfying sound against the table as he set them down.

The next round of pucks offered were significantly less satisfying. It was irritating enough to be offered  _ Imperial  _ credits, more so that the next jobs were barely enough to keep himself flying much less support an entire covert. He needed more. He needed far more than what Karga offered. He thought of the new little foundling that waited for him and felt an ache over the simple idea of there not being enough to eat.

And then the chain code card was held out to him.

“There. Is that better, little one?”

The baby looked up at Nara, then down at the ‘new’ robes - his old one, taken apart and restitched to fit a little more snug over his underclothes. He looked at his hands, now visible, and then cooed up at her.

“That might be a thank you,” Aren said with a laugh. “Feel better now, buddy?”

The kid looked up at Aren and lifted his arms.

Aren bent down and picked him up, letting the little one nestle against his shoulder. Small claws hooked over the top of his cuirass where metal met fabric. He gave the boy a pet down his back, then started walking down the tunnel. It seemed the boy had chosen Aren to be his source of comfort while Din was gone, and he wasn’t against the task in any way. The kid was cute. A snuggler extraordinaire. He’d almost be sad to hand him back over.

They didn’t get far down the tunnel before the kid began to squirm and coo.

Aren looked down. “What is it?” he asked, but the kid just made a whimper, trying to fight out of his arms. Aren bent down to a knee and settled him on the floor and the kid’s ears perked, almost comical in how he searched for whatever sound had set him off. Aren stood and watched as the kid started forward, head on a swivel to look around.

He turned to look at the left, then let out a squeal and started to run as fast as he could.

“Kid,” Aren called, and he followed around the corner. He came to a stop as he saw Din, down on one knee, the kid waddling to him with happy shrieks. Din scooped up the kid into his arms, and the baby reached up to touch his helmet, babbling away with a series of shrieks and growls. He waved his hands, almost telling a whole story, before he just collapsed against Din’s chest with a content smile.

Din looked down at him, then up at Aren. Aren nodded to him, and it was returned. “Success?”

“Yes,” Din said.

“You’re back, then?”

“No,” Din said. “I have one more hunt to go on. It shouldn’t take that long.” He bent down and placed the child back on the ground, and the boy let out a sad whimper. “The bounty is too good to pass on.”

Aren frowned but nodded. “He’s missed you,” he said. “Be quick.”

Din gave the boy a gentle pet over his head, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade the child’s pout. “Soon, I promise,” he said, and the boy reached up to grab onto his hand. Din was gentle in twisting his hand free. “Soon.” Then he stood and started towards the forge. The boy let out a whimper and began to follow, but Aren caught him with a hand and lifted him back into his arms.

“He’s got an important job,  _ ad’ika,”  _ Aren said, holding the boy close. The kid looked up at him with sad eyes, ears lowered again. “He isn’t ignoring you.” The kid snuggled in against him, eyes watching Din go until he disappeared around the corner. He let out a sad coo, eyes falling shut, and Aren felt a sympathetic sadness as he rubbed the kid’s ears. But it was difficult to not understand Din’s position, either. The kid could wait. The work that kept them fed couldn’t.

All the children were learning to play together, incorporating the newest foundling into their ranks. Mandalorian children’s games could be rough, building up physical skills as they played, but they were figuring out how to let the boy join in. A game of catch or rolling a ball around seemed to be the new favorite, when the boy didn’t have to touch the object at all.

The Mandalorians were gathered in a tunnel, sitting and talking along the sides while balls and toys were tossed around by the kids. They all knew to keep quiet, but let themselves still have the opportunities to socialize, to keep bonds strong between them, and to let their children play. Aren and Paz sat by each other, both silently working on their own pieces of armor. Aren’s left vambrace had the tendency to deactivate of its own accord and it was getting frustrated. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” he scowled. The vambrace was taken apart in front of him. “Everything looks  _ fine-” _

“Let me see,” Paz said, and Aren held out the vambrace. It was taken and Aren grumbled, looking over at the kids. “... Huh.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing obviously-”

A small sound came from further down the tunnel, a beeping noise, almost inaudible at first. But it continued and Aren stiffened at its familiarity. “Do you hear that?” he said.

Paz looked up. “Hear what?”

“A fob,” Aren said. He turned and looked down the tunnel, over his shoulder. “A tracking fob. It’s…” He stared into the empty hall. No one else reacted, but he slipped off his seat and headed down towards it. His hand slipped to his holstered blaster. Paz was up and following him, and as Aren approached their stairway exit, his heart began to pound. “Din?” he called.

He came to the stairs and looked up. Din stood on the steps, unresponsive, frozen from where he’d been walking up. His hand was on the wall, leaning on it for balance, his other hand taken up by the beeping fob. He didn’t move but for the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, staring down at the fob. The shiny new pauldron didn’t escape notice.

“Din,” Paz said. Din looked down at him. “... Who is it tracking?”

Din was silent. He took one step down, then another, until he was on the same level as them. With slow movement, as though too fast would make it worse, he turned his arm down towards the tunnel where members of their tribe sat. Where the children played. The fob increased its intensity, the beeps drawing closer together. Din started towards them and Aren and Paz looked at each other before they followed.

The Mandalorians turned to look over at the approaching sound. Silence fell from the adults, the children continuing to play with the ball for a few moments longer until they noticed what was happening. Many fell silent as well, staring up as they heard a tracking fob for the first time. Din stopped a few feet away, staring down at the fob before looking up. It beeped relentlessly now. The baby was the only one who didn’t stop, tossing the ball towards Lina with a giggle until he turned and saw Din.

He let out a happy squeal and started to come closer. His walk was a waddle, slow but determined, and the fob was firing off now.

“Maker,” Paz whispered.

No one dared move.

“Fifty years old.” Din stared down at the child, who was reaching up as high as he could, requesting to be picked up. He whimpered when he wasn’t given it. “They said…  _ fifty years old.”  _ He whipped around to look at Paz. “They - a damn Imp was sending me after a  _ child!” _

“An  _ Imp?”  _ Paz demanded.

“Din, what’s the bounty?” Aren said, stepping up. Din looked at him, and just by his shoulders, Aren could see he was beginning to hyperventilate. “Calm down. You said the bounty was too good to pass on.” But his gaze drifted to the brand new pauldron and somehow he just knew.

_ “Beskar,”  _ Din spat, like the word was fire in his mouth. “An entire camtono of beskar. Almost a whole set’s worth.”

“You were going to do work for an  _ Imp?”  _ Paz scowled. “The ones who destroyed our homeworld and sent us scattered across the galaxy, smashed our culture, our-”

“It’s beskar,” Din snapped, and at his feet the baby began to cry, “it belongs with our  _ tribe,  _ not in the hands of an Imp and if I have to-”

“An  _ excuse  _ to go be their fetching dog, a  _ child  _ in exchange for beskar-”

“I didn’t  _ know!” _

“What were you going to do if you hadn’t brought him back here, if you’d hunted him - give him to them for that prize? Sell your honor?” Paz hissed, looming over Din now, and the baby screamed louder in fright, the fob still going off, the entire tunnel smothered with tension where no one could move. “If you’d share tables with the  _ Empire  _ like a  _ coward-” _

“Shut  _ up!”  _ Nara snapped, shoving her way in between them. She pushed them both back and away from each other, sending Paz and Din back. “By the  _ Maker,  _ both of you shut  _ up.  _ There’s a  _ foundling  _ in danger here and if you two want to scream at each other and fight about your honor, go do it somewhere else so the rest of us can actually deal with this!”

Silence fell. Paz and Din stared at each other and Aren ducked in to scoop up the crying child, clutching him close. “Don’t,” he hissed at Din. “You’re scaring him. It’s not  _ important  _ right now.”

Din let out a sharp huff, fists at his side, but he turned to Aren. The child was transferred over, cradled now against Din’s cuirass, and the crying didn’t cease but instead lowered in intensity. Din held the child tight. Then he grabbed the fob and dropped it to the floor, stepping to smash it in with his heel. The sound died, the fob crushed to pieces, and it was quieted down now as the baby buried his face in Din’s cape.

“He-” Paz started.

_ “Al’verde,  _ I will trade your honor in an instant for that kid,” Nara scowled. “Don’t.” Paz fell silent again and Nara crossed her arms.

“His powers,” Din said, his voice solemn. “It must be about his powers.”

“They can’t know he’s here, right?” Aren said. “Where were you heading to find him?”

“Arvala-7,” Din said. “That’s where they thought his last location was.”

“But you found him on Corellia,” Trins said, getting up. “So at the very least, they’re sending hunters the wrong way.”

_ “Hunters,”  _ Nara said, an emphasis on the ‘s’. “Do you know you’re the only one?”

Din stared down at the kid, and Aren could see his mind whirling with his thoughts. “... I don’t,” he said, his voice quiet. “I would think I was the only one, but I can’t… I can’t be sure.” He looked up at Aren, then the others. “He was offering beskar. It would make anyone rich.”

Aren nodded.

“The fobs always come turned off. I turn them on before I leave, they’re silent until I’m close to the target. If someone else gets a fob and happens to turn it on, too-”

“They’ll find the kid,” Aren completed.

“They’ll find  _ us,”  _ Nara said. “I’m not willing to bet our home on the chances of there  _ not _ being another hunter who turns on the tracker. It’s not worth it.”

“You have to go.”

They each turned to look at the Armorer. Her tools were still gripped in her hands, but her gaze locked onto Din before she stepped closer. “What?” Din asked.

“Go,” the Armorer said. “You’ll have to take the child. Take the  _ Razor Crest  _ and go far out of the range of the tracking fobs. Neither he nor the tribe can be safe here in such close proximity other to the Hunters Guild. There is no choice here.”

Din stared at her.

“He is your foundling,” the Armorer said. “He is your responsibility to protect now. You must go quickly. You’ve taken a hunt and they will expect you to leave. Go while they have no suspicion of you.”

“... Okay,” Din said, sounding uncertain.

“We’ll help,” Trins said quickly, “it’ll be fine.”

Din looked around and the child cooed.

He sat on the steps, the baby clutched to his chest, his stomach twisting with nerves. The discomfort inside of himself was not going away. He found himself just holding the baby, struggling to think of where to go. What was coming ahead of them. He looked down at the kid, who looked back up at him with calm eyes. Din wished he could feel so calm.

Paz had disappeared elsewhere. Din was glad. The accusation that he’d work with the Empire  _ willingly,  _ that he’d dishonor himself - it made his blood boil. He held the child to his chest and waited. They’d told him just to wait, that they just needed a few minutes. For what, he wasn’t sure.

Until Nara appeared in front of him, holding the bag. “Here,” she said. “Give this a try.”

It was a regular backpack, weighed down by objects inside. Nara set it down in front of him and lifted the top. Inside was filled with small supplies - a few packs of food, more boxes of ammunition, another box designed to safely hold charges, a rolled up blanket wrapped around some toys. At the top, Nara held up the rim of a pocket - more like a pouch within the bag. “You can put him here,” she said. “Cover him up. Get to the ship without him being seen. It can work as a  _ birikad.” _

Din stared at the bag, then gently pulled the kid’s fingers off him. The baby made a displeased sound, but Din shushed him and as Nara held it open, eased the kid into the pocket. Lying there, he stared up at them, looking confused.

“That works,” Din muttered.

Behind Nara, their tribe stood. Aren, Trins, Irin, the foundlings all stood together. Aren came forward and looked down at the kid, crouching beside the bag. “See you, green bean,” he said, and he tapped the kid’s nose. The baby smiled. “Little troublemaker.”

Saris appeared behind Aren, leaning around to hold something out to Din. “Here,” he said. “You’ll want that.”

Din reached out and took hold of the chip. He looked down at it. “What’s on it?”

“Coordinates,” Saris said. “A guy I know. He helped me after the Purge when I was alone. He runs a kitchen, he’s as Mandalorian-friendly as you could hope for. If you’re desperate, he’ll help.”

Din looked up at him. “Thank you,” he said. “I… thank you.”

“We’ll keep in contact with you,” Trins promised.

“And keep an eye on what’s going on with the Guild,” Aren muttered. “See what we can do about this  _ client.  _ We’ll warn you if it seems like they’ve been tipped off about what’s going on. Enough time and I’ll go up, tell Karga you’ve gone missing and are probably dead.”

Din nodded, a frown on his face, then looked down at the child. He crouched down and closed the top of the bag, clicking the straps together. The boy shifted inside. “Thank you,” he said. “For all of this.”

“He’s a foundling,” Aren said. “Of course we would do this.  _ Ret’urcye mhi.” _

_ “Ret’urcye mhi.”  _ Din looked at each of them and nodded. They returned it. He lifted the bag and brought it over a shoulder, feeling the child squirm a bit and coo. Then he turned and began back up the stairs. His boots scraped against the duracrete until he reached the curtain, pulling it back and stepping through. The sunlight hit them and he began to walk through the bazaar, heading for the gateway, and found himself glancing as far as his HUD went in terms of peripheral vision. Paranoia curled in his gut.

What  _ luck  _ did he have, to have come across an asset before even being commissioned to bring them in?

For the asset to be a foundling?

He walked steady. Right foot, left. No one gave him a second look, used to seeing him come through. He passed the common house, his anxiety turning about again and again, even when training had taught him to ignore it. He approached the shipyard, the  _ Razor Crest  _ sitting where he’d left it. The carbon frames would’ve already been emptied and replaced. He reached the ramp with little fuss from the child and he walked up into the ship, hitting the door to shut behind him. He brought the bag down to the floor and opened it, lifting the baby out.

The kid cooed, looking up at him. “Aaap?”

“Hope you’re worth all this trouble,” he said. The kid just tilted his head to the side and Din gave him a pet before swinging the back up again onto his shoulder. He walked to the ladder, climbing up with one arm, and set the bag on the floor above before pulling them through. “... It’s you and me again.”

The baby looked up at him.

Din settled into the pilot seat and let the kid sit in his lap, peering up at the sky. He reached out and began to flip switches, push buttons, turning on the ship. The further, the faster, the better. His new pauldron was glinting in the light. He let out a breath and for a moment, closed his eyes, just let himself feel the hum of the ship.

What luck that he’d realized who his target was, long before he could possibly lead hunters to their covert?

“Hope we like each other,” he muttered.

When Nevarro faded behind them, becoming just a dot, Din let his hands relax. He was destroying his hunting career, that was for certain. Better that he let Karga think he died on the hunt than to tell him that he was running away to protect the asset he was meant to bring in. The discomfort inside him grew. They’d excommunicate him. With an Imperial client with stormtroopers at his disposal, Karga might want him dead as recompense.

_ No. _

He squeezed the controls again and reached to his belt for Saris’s chip. Those thoughts, those introspections, weren’t helpful. The baby gurgled, trying to climb up onto the dash, and Din pulled him back down. “Stay there,” he said. “There’s no other seat for you.”

He’d have to do something about that. Hanging the  _ birikad  _ by a strap and sitting the kid in it seemed an easy solution, but… well, the kid might be able to get out of it.

Din took a deep breath and plugged the chip into the ship’s computer, running the coordinates. The planet  _ Duwnth  _ came up, an image of the brown planet spinning around. If this contact was going to be a point of help, might as well head there first and make introductions. There weren’t many safe places that came to mind in the galaxy, but he saved the coordinates to the computer’s log and ran a more detailed scan. “Populated,” he muttered. The number was certainly up there, and the coordinates triangulated near the edge of a large city. It wasn’t… ideal. Din would prefer something more discreet, where a Mandalorian wouldn’t draw such attention.

But it wasn’t Coruscant.

“Best we’ve got, womp rat,” he grumbled. He set the ship on the straightest path and reached for the hyperdrive. “Let’s make some friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations:  
> Ad'ika: Little one/son/daughter  
> Birikad: Baby carrying harness  
> Ret'urcye mhi: Goodbye (maybe we'll meet again)
> 
> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)


	4. New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Baby settle in a new place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)

Duwnth was a small planet with no moon. It had a... _breathable_ atmosphere, but wasn’t so good on the natural pollution level. Din made a mental note to keep his helmet’s purifier systems on during their stay, amidst other things - like quickly finding a place they  _ could _ stay. As the holonet read out, buildings on the surface were required to keep recycling air through filters and loitering outside wasn’t allowed for unreasonable amounts of time if you had no mobile filter. For the natives, it was natural air without issue. For humans, it was like carbon monoxide at a low but constant dose.

For Din, this provided both a blessing and a curse. If their flight was discovered and a hunter miraculously sent to this location, it would be hell for any non-Mandalorian or one without any sort of filter. He’d never come here before, but if there were enforcers for the loitering rule, it made it much more difficult to wait around for a target to show their face. On the other hand, it meant they’d have to find shelter quick. He’d also have to figure out how to travel anywhere with the baby in tow when he had no filter for him.

_ Really, Saris?  _ he grumbled.

But the baby was calm in his lap, and he’d already spent the hours-long trip here memorizing both their journey to the aforementioned kitchen and the layout of the city in general. Their current destination was a restaurant, locally owned as the holonet suggested, with good food reviews and praise for its cook. Din wondered if that was his guy.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he said to the kid, who stared up at him with sleepy eyes. He looked out at the landscape before them; the ship port, already under the large force field, led straight into the city. A hazy yellow glow was everywhere he looked. The restaurant shouldn’t be a long walk from here. He got up and grabbed the bag, already emptied of the contents meant to stay on the ship, and eased the baby inside to the pocket. The baby pouted, letting out a whimper, but Din shut him inside and only gave a caress through the material. “Just hold on.”

He climbed down into the cargo hold. As he hit the button for the door, he felt up to the side of his helmet, pressing another button down. His helmet filtered at a low power setting on average, but now he set it into a higher intensity, biometrics popping into view on the corners of his HUD. As soon as the ramp was down, he was on the ground, and hit his vambrace to close up the door and keep the toxins out. He started off at a brisk pace. He saw no one else around. It wasn’t a place to hang.

The city was almost deserted in appearance, few walking about though lights on buildings were fully illuminated. Din let his focus turn to the buildings, counting in his head as they walked. Inside the bag, the child squirmed, and Din felt the urgency come over him to move faster. He didn’t know how the kid would respond to the air. If it would hurt him, or if like some species, wouldn’t be affected at all.

He wasn’t going to find out if he could help it.

For a city on a world like this, they were good with labelled directions. Din managed to find the glowing sign pointing towards the restaurant and he got them inside, stepping through the exterior door and into the airlock. Air hissed around them before the interior door’s lock turned green and clicked. Din adjusted the bag and pushed through.

Inside was the average restaurant’s setup, tables around the area in neat rows with roughly half filled with customers. A few looked towards them while most didn’t care who was coming through. Din looked around, searching, taking it all in. At his back, the kid whimpered, but a waiting girl passed by. She wore black, fitted clothes with an apron around her waist, holding an empty tray at her shoulder. She was Mirialan, her skin a light pale green with the expected dark markings - four diamond shapes at her forehead, interlocking triangles down her chin.

She gave Din a long glance as she passed before turning away.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping to follow. She stopped and looked back at him.

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for the owner,” he said. “A... mutual friend sent me.”

She stared at him, a skeptical look crossing her face. “Uh,” she muttered, “give me a minute and I’ll see if he’s here.”

“Thank you,” Din said.

She turned away again and disappeared through a swinging door into the kitchen. For a moment, Din stood there, but heard a tiny cough from his back. He looked at the empty table beside him and slid into it, bringing the back into his lap. “Hey,” he muttered, opening the top. He looked down at the kid. “Still with me?”

The baby looked up at him. He didn’t seem to be an off color. Maybe, hopefully, just a normal cough and not any indication of a developing exposure problem. Din frowned and held him a little closer. Hopefully. The baby looked sleepy, but he was… well, a baby.

They worked like that, Din was sure.

Footsteps approached and he looked up. The Mirialan girl appeared again and she waved Din towards her, “Come on.” She gave the kid an eyeful before Din had the top closed and he stood, putting the bag on his back. She turned a questioning look on him and started towards the same door as before, now with Din following. They passed through into a hot kitchen, where two men were at work making food.  _ Maker,  _ it smelled delicious. But they made a left and stepped through another door. They stopped in an office, a small space but it held a desk covered with various knick knacks and datapads. Opposite them in the chair was a human man, with thick black hair combed back and nicer robes but a tired look about him. He looked at Din.

“I’m told we have a mutual friend,” he said.

Din felt the baby squirm again but didn’t move. “You knew a Mandalorian.”

“Another one of you?” the man said. “Once.”

“Did he give you his name?”

“... Took a few years, but he did.”

“You helped him.”

“I did.”

“I need help and he told me to come to you.”

The man looked at him, then glanced past him towards the girl. “Zofi, you can go,” he said, and Din heard her walk out of the room. The door shut behind her. In the back, the baby began to whimper and squirm, and the man’s expression twisted into confusion. “... What’s that?”

“The reason I’m here.”

The man stood up from his chair. Din let out a breath, but brought the bag around to his front and unlatched the top, careful in lifting the kid out. The baby cooed as he looked around, twisting to stare up at Din and then the man. He began to examine the office around them and the man stared at him. “What  _ is  _ that?” he said. “A baby?”

“He’s a foundling from my tribe,” Din said. “I’m protecting him. There are people who want him so I had to leave and one of my brothers told me this was a place to go.”

The man was still staring at the kid, but then snapped up to Din. “Want him? As in sending bounty hunters want?”

_ “I’m  _ a bounty hunter,” Din said. “Former. They won’t find us here. It would take ages and luck.”

The man looked skeptical and shook his head. “Look, Mando, Saris might’ve pointed you to me but I’m not having bounty hunters come to this place looking for a kid. Bad for business and dangerous for my staff.”

“You housed a Mandalorian before. After the Empire destroyed us and were hunting down as many of us as they could  _ find,”  _ Din said. “That was much more _dangerous_ to your business than this is.”

The man frowned at him. For a moment, it was silent, and the man looked at his desk in thought. The baby squirmed in Din’s arms and cooed. The two seemed to watch each other until the man let out a long sigh. “... Alright,” he said. “I can give you a place to stay for a bit. But I can’t offer it forever.”

“That’s fine,” Din said. He needed time to prepare a plan, not a permanent residence.

The man got up. “This way.”

The apartment offered to them was small. Tiny, really, barely enough for one person, too small for two. It had four walls and a ceiling, plus a fifth wall that separated the “bedroom” from the “kitchen”. The rest was a single space, only divided by the wall that reached halfway across the floor.

“It’s enough,” Din said.

The man, Tain Howlyn, nodded before he turned to head back down the hall and up the stairs to the restaurant. Din looked into the apartment again before stepping over the threshold, into the small space. He closed the door behind them and came to the bed. He set the bag down and opened it, lifting the child into his arms, who stared up at Din with big eyes.

“We’ll be okay here,” he said.

The baby cooed. Din sat on the bed with the child in his lap and the boy looked around with curiosity before returning his gaze to Din. “Eh?” he questioned, putting his hands against Din’s cuirass.

“This is home.” Din frowned. “For now.”

They had a roof and a bed, a tiny kitchen and a ‘fresher down the hall. It was more than he could’ve asked for elsewhere. As the baby climbed down and began to explore, Din took a deep breath and reached up, removing his helmet. He breathed in the air, filtered and clean. He set the helmet aside and began to look through the bag of gifted supplies.

“Ah!”

He stopped and looked over. The child had stopped, too, staring at Din with wide eyes. For a long moment, they only looked at each other, and it took too long before Din realized the child had not seen his face before. “...  _ Ad’ika,”  _ he said, and the child took a step closer. “It’s me.”

But the baby’s ears lowered. He let out a soft whimper.

“It’s just me.” He grabbed the helmet and lifted it up, but it proved useless when the baby only continued to stare. Din bit the inside of his cheek before he got down on the floor, sitting cross-legged in the small space, and set the helmet on the floor beside him. “It was just the helmet.”

The baby stared at the helmet, and then up at him. For a moment, his gaze moved back and forth between the two. He began to approach, and he reached out to touch the helmet. He looked into the visor, and then up to Din again. He let out a soft, inquisitive sound before he moved around it and began climbing into Din’s lap. Din let him, and the boy reached up to come higher.

Din lifted him. Two little hands reached up to touch his jaw. He pushed at the soft skin, then began to smile, and pushed harder. Din let him, and the boy started to explore his face with his hands. “Aah!” he exclaimed, giggling, and Din just smiled. Satisfied that this was really his guardian’s face, the baby smiled at him, and Din leaned backwards until he laid on his back. The kid settled on his chest, looking down at him, and Din looked up.

“Just you and me.”

The kid giggled.

Boredom set in easily. The baby, now assured that his guardian had not removed his own face, explored every inch of the apartment he could reach. Din began to remove his armor to give it another once-over; the paint was chipped and faded. He needed a new coat to keep it looking decent, though it couldn’t be high on the list of priorities now. He wiped off dusty residue from the atmosphere and re-armored, watching the kid.

The baby continued to walk around. Soon, however, he came to the door and looked up. He made a soft noise and his ears lowered. He looked back at Din with a questioning look, lifting his hands to his face, and made another little whimper. “They’re not here,” he said. “They’re home.”

The kid came over. He began to climb up into Din’s lap and Din moved aside his cuiss to give him room. The baby just sat there, looking distraught and pouting, ears lowered though tears didn’t fall. After a moment, he slumped against Din’s front. Din brought his hands up to hold him and rubbed his back. “We’re safe here.” The idea of a holocall popped into his mind, but was quick to be dismissed. Those connections couldn’t be confirmed safe and were for emergencies only. They’d endangered the tribe enough.

But the baby wasn’t to be reassured by Din’s words. He squeezed his eyes shut, comfortable lying against Din’s chest without the cuirass there, ears low and sniffling. Din held him close. “We’ll be home again,” he promised. “We’ll see them again.”

As soon as they knew it to be safe.

Their first night was… rough. Din had anticipated it, and then felt it in the morning. The kid did not settle well, waking again and again, waking Din with him. Going back to sleep felt impossible. The child wanted to cuddle with him and then didn’t, unable to stay still.

Din made them breakfast in the morning with barely-open eyes.

He needed work, something to do, not just to stave off the boredom but to at least earn as many credits as they could gather. The tribe had given him enough to survive without choking themselves as well. But that money would go. The kid was sleepy from a night of restlessness and with enough coaxing, Din got him to lie down.

Then, when eyes closed and breaths evened, Din took note of the time and stepped out into the hall. The door locked behind him with a  _ click  _ and he began down the hall towards the restaurant’s main floor. It was a confusing space beneath the building, seeming to have more twists and turns than a maze with several locked doors. He gave them each an eye, but when most didn’t open, he was… well. He’d tried retracing his steps.

He was lost.

“Looking for something?”

Din turned on his heel, hand dropping to his holster, but he relaxed. Zofi looked at him with arms crossed as weight leaned onto one jutted-out hip. She eyed him, and he paused for a moment.

“Out,” he said.

“Surface,” she said.

“Yes.”

“This way.” She turned and began to walk. Din followed, and let himself be guided through the maze. It was only a few turns before they were on track, heading down the one long hallway he now remembered from yesterday. The sound of dining patrons became clearer, as well as Tain’s muffled voice from his office. There was another voice. Both sounded aggravated.

“I need work,” Din said. “Know of anything?”

Zofi paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. “... What  _ kind  _ of work?” she asked.

“I’m a hunter,” he said.

They entered the restaurant’s main floor. The rush hour seemed to have slowed down, and Zofi came to the counter, grabbing up a datapad. As she turned it on and tapped through the screen, Din stood nearby, watching. Outside, a few people passed at a quick pace, wearing domed clear helmets for clean air. Another group disappeared into a hole in the ground, descending down into filtered areas below. “How worth it is the tunnel system?” he asked.

“If you’ve got the money, it’s perfect,” Zofi muttered. “If you don’t, the entry  _ and  _ exit fees add up. Better to just run it.”

“You have to pay to enter  _ and  _ exit the tunnels?” he asked, paused. He didn’t remember reading on that.

“Whatever they can assign a fee to, they’ll do it.” Zofi turned to him and held out the datapad, leaning back against the counter. Din took it. “City data. Map there with a good search engine. Those highlighted buildings are ones hiring.”

“... Thank you,” he said. “But this isn’t what I…”

“There’s no bounty guild on Duwnth,” she said. She turned to the counter, reaching for a stack of napkins. “Sorry. But if you’re good with your hands, there’s always places that need workers to repair filtration systems. Or transport services. Any hunter work and you’ll need to source it from offworld.”

Din frowned. He looked down at the datapad and tapped a few times without much attention paid to the results. “Does this have available lodging as well?” he said. Zofi turned around. “I may need my own place.”

She bit her lip, brows furrowed in thought, before crossing her arms. “There’s a search function for it,” she said, “as far as I know, there’s always housing somewhere. Most people who stay here grew up here. Migrants tend to leave once they have the means to.” She gestured into the air. “The air is good for the natives. Can’t keep a filtered bubble over the city, so it’s a difficult place to stay.”

Din nodded. “But manageable?”

_ “I’m  _ still here,” Zofi said. “It’s… very  _ different  _ to Mirial. But it’s manageable if you wish to stay.”

“It may be the safest place.”

“Safe from what, exactly?”

Din looked at her. “... I can’t disclose that,” he said. “My… child and I. We just need safety.”

Zofi held his gaze. “I know how that goes,” she said, voice quiet. “I have to work.”

Din nodded and stepped back for her to pass by him. He looked down at the datapad again and tapped through a few options. There were, like she’d said, many shops hiring that dealt with mechanics like vehicles and filters. Other restaurants that needed bussers, schools that would take teachers, sanitation jobs. There were,  _ in a sense,  _ plenty of opportunities. But he wasn’t one for any of those jobs. He’d been doing one thing for the last several years and the thought of  _ deviating  _ from it felt… uncomfortable.

But comfort was a commodity to be traded for survival.

He stepped back into the hallway leading towards the offices, standing beside the wall as he looked through all his current options. He supposed he could work on ships; he often managed the Razor Crest without help, making every repair that he could on his own so as to not spend credits. He had the skill necessary. Just as he began to look for the nearest shop, the restaurant’s airlock hissed and clicked with a new arrival.

He turned and glanced over his shoulder, out at the restaurant’s main floor. He froze.

Another Mandalorian strutted in, donned in dark blue armor.

Din watched as they came to the counter, taking a seat. It was difficult to get a read on a Mandalorian when they had helmets on. Body language stood clear - they were trained to do so. It had been drilled into Din over years and years to be so self aware. Age, gender, appearance - all had potential to be indistinguishable when covered head to toe in padding and beskar.

But this Mandalorian walked with a swagger. There was radiant confidence in his body language, and he had no such discipline. He called out to Zofi with a whistle, and the woman rolled her eyes before walking over. He leaned back in his seat, and Din watched as he lifted off his helmet.

Male. Young. Difficult to tell - late teens, early twenties, a blurred line even as Din reached up to zoom in on the interaction. His stomach began to knot. He thought of the kid, sleeping in the room, and he zoomed out to begin examining the restaurant’s available resources instead.

Not that many people to hurt. Counters, walls and tables would make decent cover against blaster fire. As Din ran the calculations and outcomes of a confrontation in his mind - the kid didn’t  _ scream  _ bounty hunter, but he couldn’t trust like that - he almost forgot to watch.

Almost missed when the kid looked right at him and his face contorted with fear.

It barely lasted a second. But Din stiffened and the kid looked away, grabbing his helmet again, sliding it on. He got out of his seat, heading for the door with haste, hand dropped down to his blaster at his hip. The holster was leather, falling apart.

As he disappeared into the airlock, Din followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Adika: Little one/son/daughter
> 
> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)


	5. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din confronts the Mandalorian. New paths are created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)  
> 

The Mandalorian was quick, but not fast enough. Din stepped out of the airlock, hand coming up to activate his filter, and saw the kid disappear around the corner. He followed. Once he turned the corner onto the second street, the kid had slowed to a fast walk, but Din was there in an instant.

A hand seized the back of the cuirass, gripping the edge of the plate before dragging the kid back. The Mandalorian let out a shout but Din shoved him back against the building’s wall, blaster pulled and letting out a  _ click  _ as Din pushed it to his stomach.  _ “Tion gar gai?” _ he growled, forearm barred across the kid’s chest. The Mandalorian pushed against him, but didn’t fight hard when Din shoved the blaster’s barrel deeper into his padding.

“Let me go!”

“Answer me.” Their visors stared into each other. When the kid didn’t speak, Din scowled and gave him another shove.  _ “Answer.  _ If you speak our language, if you’re a  _ Mandalorian,  _ you can answer me.  _ Tion gar gai?” _

“I’m a Mandalorian!”

“Then answer the question.”

“I don’t speak it - I  _ don’t-” _

“So you’re lying.”

“I’m  _ not!” _

“If you’re a real Mandalorian, your clan taught you. You grew up speaking it or you’re a foundling.  _ Or,  _ you stole this armor off a body and that’s why you ran when you saw me.”

The kid stared up at him. “I was  _ born  _ a Mandalorian,” he said. “My clan couldn’t teach me, they’re  _ dead.  _ The Empire  _ killed  _ them.”

Din watched him. With the helmet, there was no expression to give away a tell, and his voice sounded honest. But the story could also be an easy lie, made up on the spot, when most Mandalorians had the same background. “What’s your name?” he asked, easing off the pressure of the blaster.

The kid let out a relieved breath. “Rysi,” he said. “Rysi Typhe.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to  _ live?” _

Din stepped back and away from him. “Just you?” he demanded. “Other Mandalorians with you?”

“I have a… twin,” Rysi said. “It’s just us. We got here a week ago, okay? There’s nowhere else to-”

He was cut off by the sound of approaching beeps, then a soft siren wail. Both looked over as a creature approached on a speeder, lights flashing from its front, bright enough to cut through the hazy gas with ease. The bike stopped nearby and the creature shouted words at them. Din blinked, then looked at the kid. “What’s he saying?”

“We’re loitering,” Rysi huffed. “It’s a warning.”

The creature did not seem concerned that Din still had a blaster in hand, but Din holstered it anyway. “The restaurant,” he said. “Now.”

He started back and the kid followed, his footsteps hesitating before he was walking too. The patrol watched them go until it sputtered off in another direction, and the return to the restaurant was not far. They were silent as they returned to the airlock, coming through to the outside, and walked back into the cleaned air.

Zofi stood behind the counter. She gave them both an odd look. 

Din started towards the hallway, weaving through the tables. Any customers were quick to get out of his way. Once they’d rounded the corner, free from any prying eyes, Din turned around on him. “How old are you?”

Rysi looked at him. “Seventeen,” he said.

“The armor. Where’d you get it from?”

Rysi opened his mouth, but Din sucked in a breath and stepped back, his hand coming to his chest. He… couldn’t breathe. For a split moment, all the air felt forced out of his lungs and he curled his fingers against his beskar. The thought of crying came over his mind.

The baby was awake.

“Are you okay?” Rysi said, but Din just turned away, heading down the hall. He couldn’t… explain how he knew. Only he could hear crying, just in the back of his mind, more like a ghost of a memory but there all the same. He didn’t pay attention to his turns, but made only a few. “Wait!” Rysi called, running after him, but Din didn’t respond.

He came to their door and hit a control on his vambrace. But the door didn’t budge, and Din scowled. Soft, muffled, he could hear the baby’s cries, and he shoved at the door before trying to think of the damn passcode. He punched in a few numbers at the lock. “What the hell was-” But another attempt and the door slid open.

On the bed, the baby laid, crying. His face was buried in the bed, but as the door opened, he turned to look at Din with a louder wail. Din came to the bed in an instant, light shining into the room from behind him, and reached out to scoop up the child. He brought him to his chest and sat on the bed, cradling him, as Rysi stood in the doorway. The child paid no mind to their visitor, burying his face against Din’s cuirass as he cried.

“Shh.” Din held him but didn’t know how to…  _ what  _ to do. “Don’t cry. Don’t…”

“Is that your kid?” Rysi asked.

“Get out,” Din said. For a moment Rysi stared at him with an expression of hurt, but Din stood.  _ “Privacy.” _

Then Rysi stepped out of the doorway and into the hall. Din took a step to hit the door shut, then spun around and crouched, setting the kid on the ground. “It’s okay,” he whispered, and the baby wailed again at being put down. He pushed forward to grab onto Din’s leg, and Din lifted his helmet off. He shoved hair back from his face and brought the child up into his arms. “I’m here.”

The baby looked up at him. The tears did not stop right away, but there was a distinct pause as the child looked at his face. He leaned forward and pushed his own face against Din’s cheek, sniffling as he nuzzled close, and Din let him stay there. “It’s okay,” he murmured again. “It’s okay…”

The kid cooed, soft and lonely.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It took a few minutes, but the baby soon settled in place. Din waited until he was relaxed before shifting him into one arm, replacing his helmet again. With it in place, he got up and turned to the door, opening it again.

Rysi looked up at him. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, but straightened and for a moment just stared at the kid. “That’s… your kid?” he asked.

“Foundling,” Din said. “Come in.”

Rysi stepped inside and the apartment seemed to condense even more. Din walked to the kitchen and set the kid down on the counter as he looked through the cabinets for food. “This is better than what we have,” Rysi said. “We’re in a hostel. Rooms full of people. It’s the only place we could get.”

“You’ll never get anything glamorous.” As Din got out packed meat and started cutting it up on a plate, the baby leaned forward and tried to take some. “Not yet.” He shooed the baby’s hands away before it was sliced up into bits. “There. Where is your armor from?”

Rysi reached up and took his helmet off. “This was my uncle’s,” he said, his voice soft. “He gave it to me right as… it was happening. My siblings and I were on the last transport off Mandalore that the Empire didn’t blow up. Some I got from another Mandalorian - he tried protecting us, but he got in a bounty hunter’s way and I managed to get some of the armor before he was stripped.” Rysi paused. “I had to buy the rest.”

Din looked at him. His armor was painted to match but no two pieces really matched in a stylistic sense.

“You?”

“Some of it is still my first set,” Din said, turning back to the baby. They’d been cut off from a steady beskar supply and soldiers like Din were reforging to make the metal last. And since the Purge, it’d gone through plenty of melting and recrafting. “Some came from others.”

“Others?”

“Fallen brothers.” He watched the child eat. When one ventured out of the covert, there was no telling what could be brought back. The little one in front of him was a prime example, as well as their other foundlings. But sometimes it wasn’t such a pleasant thing. Sometimes it was… whatever you had been exposed to. They tried to run health checks before entering the covert, to clean their clothes and wipe down their armor. But germs could spread anyway. Whatever might linger on you could reach others. And sometimes, something like an outbreak was… inevitable.

Armor lost outside the covert couldn’t always be recovered. But inside…

“Oh.”

“It happens,” he said.

“You have others, then?”

Din paused. The child finished his meal and it was an easy reason to focus on cleaning it up. The baby watched him wipe off the plate and put it away, and then Din lifted him into his arms. “I have a tribe,” he said. Rysi sucked in a breath. “In a covert. We’re hidden.”

“How many?” Rysi asked, eyes big and voice laced with…  _ hope.  _ Din looked at him. “Or… big or small? Small might be, maybe, ten people but big could be  _ big  _ and we’ve never gotten to really live with Mandalorians since the Purge, there’s so much  _ culture  _ stuff we don’t-”

“I’m not going back.”

Rysi stopped, then, and stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going back to my tribe. It isn’t safe.” He came to the bed and began to settle the child down for a  _ real  _ nap. He laid him against the pillows, and the baby stared up at him.

“How… long? Until you go back?”

“I don’t know. They’re the ones to contact me.”

“Why? What’s stopping you from going back?”

Din paused, blanket in his hands to lay over the child. The baby still looked up at him, then began to get back up, raising his arms to reach for Din. Din shook his head and picked him up, placing him on his back again. “It just isn’t safe. We’re lying low. I need work.”

The baby was beginning to fuss now, kicking at Din’s hands as he whimpered. Din needed new clothes for him. He needed a good food supply. He needed… baby things. Whatever those were, exactly. There was an indoor market nearby, he was sure, if the job search was useless then he could stop there and look around. But for now the baby refused to lie still and as Rysi watched, Din huffed. “You didn’t nap,” he said. “That wasn’t a nap.”

“Aaasa!” the baby cried out.

_ “You’re  _ the one who did all this.”

Was the child  _ permanently  _ his even without the formal vows? He had no tribe to swear in front of right now.

“Well… without a tribe,” Rysi said. “Do you… could you help us?”

“With what?” When he was met with silence, Din looked over. “I can’t give you credits. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“With being  _ Mandalorians,”  _ Rysi said, voice gone quiet.

Din looked at him a little longer, then down at the child who was beginning to whimper out the start of a tantrum. He fought hard against Din’s hands, even if  _ hard  _ was relative. Din let out a breath, then let go of the child and stood. The baby seemed surprised, staring up at him with perked ears and a tilted head, his tears miraculously drying before they could fall.

“If you watch him for a little while, I’ll pay you,” he said, and headed for the door. “Entertain him.”

Rysi jumped out of his way. “F-For… how long? Wait - how much?”

“We’ll decide that later,” Din said, “but he just ate. Careful, he’s good at escaping.” He stepped out of the apartment, tapping the door’s button to shut behind him, and began walking. Rysi’s soft protest was cut off, and Din allowed himself a slight smile of amusement.

_ First lesson: caring for foundlings. _

Duwnth was a  _ ghost  _ town, it seemed.

A storm raged outside the city’s bubble, blocking out most of the sunlight as dust and dirt and sand swirled around, the wind so loud that it was a hum even where Din walked. Businesses and signs lit up directions and establishments but Din saw no one else walking. It almost gave the sensation of a curfew he didn’t know about.

There were more guard patrols that eyed him, but never said a word.

The hiring starport center was large. From what the city’s holonet had described, it was on the  _ expensive  _ side to park there, and doing so came with regular complimentary cleanings after the fee for parking and for maintenance. It wasn’t his dream job by any stretch, but he knew his way around ships and the pay was decent. Just as he was starting to feel the air in his chest, a sickening sensation beginning, he reached the port.

The hangar was large, and the ships inside fit what he would have expected from such a place. Luxury cruisers, beautiful and brand-new ships that still shone like a sun, and workers who were halfway inside the ships to fix or on ladders to clean. Din watched for a moment from the door, eyes scanning the terrain before making his next step.

“Can I help you?”

Din looked over. A worker stood beside him, a few feet away, cleaning his hands with a rag. He was human, a little younger than Din with a well-trained smile.

“Job inquiry,” Din said.

“Oh!” the worker said, and he nodded. “Right. Follow me.”

They walked towards the side of the garage, where a metal door led away. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a  _ Mandalorian  _ here,” the worker said. “I’ll say, the… armor doesn’t really  _ match  _ with the rest of us. I’m Baran.”

Din didn’t respond.

“... Gotcha,” Baran said with a nervous laugh.

They passed rooms full of tool boxes and cleaning supplies, until they came to an office, its door already open. “Haja!” Baran called, stepping through the door. A sharp voice snipped back at him, inaudible, and Din followed him in. A woman sat behind a desk, her dark hair pristine and clothes neat with cultural tattoos that snaked across her skin. A man leaned against the wall beside the desk, arms crossed, and both stiffened as their eyes came to Din.

“This is…” Baran paused. “Mando. Looking for a job.”

For a moment, the two only stared at him. Din glanced between the two with his eyes, and finally the man spoke. “You know ships?”

Din nodded. “Pilot.”

“But you can fix. What kind of schooling?”

“Mandalorian,” he deadpanned.

The man and woman glanced at each other. “No one’s going to want to see a Mandalorian working on their ship,” the man muttered. He glanced at Din. “... No offense. But it’s a business.”

Din rolled his eyes.

“He could work with my crew!” Baran offered. “We-”

“We weren’t asking you,” the woman snapped.

“No,” the man said. “What is it?”

Baran only looked a little ruffled. “He could work with us,” he said. “We do the more serious repairs in the back, anyway. Can’t have all that damage in plain view. No one would know a Mandalorian is there, and hell, just holding a light for us could be useful.”

There was a beat of silence. The man and woman looked at each other, then the man shrugged and the woman sighed. “Alright,” she muttered. “We’ll give you some trial projects, see how good you  _ actually are,  _ and then we’ll negotiate payment from there.”

Din nodded. “Fair.”

“Baran,” the woman said, her attention already turning back to her desk.

Baran nodded, “Yes ma’am,” and stepped past Din into the hall again. Din turned and followed. They didn’t return to the main garage, but turned and began down a long hallway. He could hear the sound of revving and whirring machines, the typical sounds that could be heard as repairs were made. 

“That was Savant and Jory,” Baran said, waving his hand dismissively. “They own the place.  _ Technically  _ they’re our bosses, but - they don’t know anything about mechanics. You don’t really need to know them if you’re working here. Just the ground managers.”

As they turned the corner, sparks flew, and Din barely blinked.

The space opened into a large hallway, roughly half the size of the main hangar but still large on its own. A ship sat in the center, parked and surrounded by uniformed workers. He could see where carbon scoring was beginning to build and the scorch marks on the outside panels from atmospheric entry. The ship was a newer model, but it was beat. Sparks flew again, a wave of light before it stopped. The workers paid them no mind, calling out to each other for tools and parts.

“Trial parts?” Baran said, raising his voice. He pointed to the side where a table was set up with multiple parts of the ship laid out in small collections of items. Din couldn’t identify them from so far until he zoomed in. “Those are computer parts. Yeah, the ship’s nav is messed up. Programming might not be your strong suit, but if you could just piece ‘em back together - that’d make it easier on us.”

Din nodded.

“Good luck,” Baran said, flashing another friendly smile before he walked off to join the others. Din watched, then started towards the computer parts.

Child’s play.

When Din returned home, his hands were sore. For all his skill at putting parts together, small tools in his hands were never going to be comfortable, and he flexed them at his side as he found his way back to the restaurant at a quick pace. When he entered the building, the lights had dimmed to only a few. Zofi was the only one he could see, the kitchen lights dark and all tables emptied. She stood behind the counter, running a cloth over the surface as she looked at a datapad to read.

As Din walked in, she looked up. “Success?”

“Yes,” Din said. “How long was your shift?”

“I work most of the day. Long breaks between.” Zofi folded over the cloth and set it aside, shrugging.

“Sounds rough,” Din said.

“Tain helps with my rent. My pay goes towards more than survival.” She crossed her arms. “And the people here are more behaved than in the Core, so I don’t mind.”

“You’re from the Core?”

“It was the last place I’d lived before here. Left home young. How is your boy doing?”

“I need to find out,” Din muttered.

“What happened with you and the other Mandalorian?”

“The kid?” Din said. “Do you actually know him?”

“I don’t have a name - I never asked. But he hangs around here. Always orders the cheapest thing. Cute kid that tries to act tough.” She made an amused chuckle in her throat. “Sometimes has a sister here, I think, though I couldn’t tell you anything for sure.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “I have him babysitting my son right now.”

Zofi laughed. “Let me know how that went.”

Din nodded and bid goodnight before he was heading back towards their room. He walked through the hallways, remembering the path better this time, and passed multiple doors that all led to empty rooms. He gave them all another glance, but only one had lights on the other side. There were voices, muffled and indeterminable. He looked at it for a moment, but moved on. He had a kid to relieve from babysitting duty.

The door opened with the first passcode attempt and he was greeted with a dark room. He stepped inside and his eyes strayed to the figure lying on the bed; he reached over and turned the lights up slow.

Rysi was lying on the bed on his side, curled around the child. His upper beskar had been removed, his cuirass, helmet and pauldrons lying on the chair. The baby was cuddled in at his chest, face buried against Rysi’s tunic, and the teenager had drool running down his cheek.

As Din stepped around the bed, the baby shifted, and then let out a big yawn. He rolled over and looked up at Din. Seeing him, he made a small little trill, ears perking up as sleepy eyes blinked.

“I’m back,” Din said, voice quiet as he reached down. The baby was pliant in being lifted, and was happy to snuggle against Din’s shoulder instead. “You’re okay?”

The baby made another chirp.

“Sounds fun.”

As he leaned against the wall, the child began to wave his hands, babbling a string of shrieks and growls as though catching him up on what he and Rysi had done to pass the time. Din nodded along. Soon, the child wrapped it up, and planted a hand on Din’s chest before he turned and looked down at Rysi. He made another coo.

“Let him sleep,” Din said. He might not have a real bed elsewhere. “We’ll send him home when he wakes up.”

The baby trilled his approval, and Din smiled.

_ “Din!” _

_ He couldn’t speak. He could barely see. His HUD was dark; the screen had gone out. Or he was blind. But only one of those options seemed the most plausible. He was on the ground, could feel his bare hands pressing down into earth. Dirt, or clay, or something like it. Slowly, feeling his body come into focus, he began to sit back onto his heels and reorient himself. _

_ “Din!” _

_ Someone beside him was retching. By the voice - he couldn’t tell, really - it could be Aren. He reached up beneath his helmet and inched it up; light flooded the inside, just enough to see. His HUD was out. He lowered it back down. _

_ His gloves were shredded. His armor was… wrong. He felt down to the tops of his thighs and his fingers found a bent cuiss, the beskar arching up and one side wrenched back like it had been struck and bent. Slowly, he got to his feet and put one hand on his helmet before hitting the heel of his other into the beskar. _

_ His HUD only sparked a bit of light. _

_ “Djarin, where - Aren? Anyone -  _ adike -”

_ He hit again, and a third time, before the HUD flickered back to life and he had to blink against the sudden light. They were in an empty field, a meadow, surrounded by tall grass that reached below his knees. He was in a dry patch. Aren was on his hands and knees beside him, missing several pieces of beskar, clothing torn to reveal skin. His helmet was in place but lifted up to vomit and Din looked away. Beside them, the transport ship burned in pieces. _

_ Bodies lied around the ship. Some in one piece. Some not. _

_ He couldn’t look. _

_ “Din!” _

_ Hands grabbed and turned him. He stared up into a visor; no one he recognized.  _ Who are you?  _ he was about to ask. But the question died in his throat. For a frightening moment, he wondered if he should know this person. If the crash had ripped away memories. _

_ But he then remembered meeting this person in the middle of the attack, and felt better. _

_ “We’re not safe,” the Mandalorian said, panicked. “We have to go. We have to move.” _

_ “The kids,” Din started, “they-” _

_ “They’re gone or they ran.” The Mandalorian sounded a little more confident even as they swallowed hard and they squeezed Din again. “Get Aren. Run. The Empire is cleaning house. Get him, go, find as many  _ adike  _ as you can. That’s an  _ ky’gyce.”

_ Din looked around. The ship was in pieces, half buried in the ground. His knee was throbbing. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and turned, stumbling back towards Aren. The man had stopped throwing up, but was still trembling. “Let’s go,” he muttered. “Aren. Aren.” _

_ “Kuna-” _

_ “Unless you want to join her in the Manda-” _

_ Overhead, a droning sound began.  _

_ Din stopped and looked up; Aren did too. Both saw the black dots appear in the sky, three that grew larger and larger like angels of death. _

_ “TIEs,” Aren said. _

_ “Imps,” Din said. “Go!” _

_ As the TIE fighters approached, bringing the sound of death with them, they sprinted into the forest at the fastest pace they could manage. Behind them, blasters fired and wood splintered. _

Din woke with a gasp.

He didn’t scream. Never screamed from his dreams, but woke up with a gasp and an unsettled sensation where sweat connected his skin and clothes. With a deep breath, he stared up at the ceiling. The drone of a TIE fighter continued on in his mind and he closed his eyes against it.

He was drawn out of those thoughts by whimpering and squirming beside him.

He looked down. The baby looked up at him, peering back with big brown eyes and flat ears. He’d been tucked beneath Din’s arm but now was squirming to get comfortable again after his disturbance. He crawled up onto Din’s shoulder, settling there, and Din brought a hand up to stroke him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. To the child, of course. “Everything is fine.”

The baby made a sad coo.

The drone would not leave his thoughts, and Din brought both hands up to cradle the child, letting his cheek press to the baby’s head.

“I have you,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a  
> Tion gar gai - What's your name?  
> Adike - little ones/sons/daughters  
> Ky'gyce - order/command
> 
> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://solarr-eclipse.tumblr.com/)


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